I was almost the star of my own version of Grand Theft Auto, only without the dead hookers.

This is going to be the saddest, least blogpostiest blog post you have ever seen from me. This week has kicked my ass sideways. I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I’m so exhausted that the following thing ACTUALLY REALLY HAPPENED last night:

I went to see Wicked (more on that in a bit) and parked in my usual place, which is NOT the fancy, safe, nice parking garage, because it takes a YEAR to get out of that parking garage after a show and I have no patience at all, but is the parking lot behind the YMCA. Which isn’t UNSAFE, but it’s not protected by a lady in a booth or anything, you know? Plus it’s the parking lot where the man came up to me with a riding crop that time and asked me if I’d been bad and needed to be punished.

This picture (STOLEN FROM THE TIMES UNION CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE DON’T SUE ME TIMES UNION!!!) makes it look all fancy but at night it’s shady-town.

So I parked the car in what I think was the last remaining spot (lots of people came to see Wicked and lots of people know that parking garage is a nightmare to escape from, no, seriously, one time I was in there for over half an hour JUST TRYING TO GET OUT OF MY SPOT, it’s that bad, last night I was already home by the time friend R. texted me she’d gotten out of the garage) and the minivan next to me didn’t even stay in the lines, which I hate (why can’t you park in the lines, people? It’s not like they’re INVISIBLE lines. They’re right THERE) and so I squished in and then ran off the couple blocks to the theater texting friend R. gleefully I was on my way.

Well, it wasn’t THIS bad, but still pretty bad.

Then after intermission my lips, much like Napoleon Dynamite’s, hurt REAL BAD, but without my brother to refuse to bring me a Chapstick, I’d have to find my own, so I went into my purse to find my lip gloss which is HELPFULLY attached to my keys and could not find it.

Well, thought I. This is confusing. My keys are always on top in my purse. What could be happening here?

Then I thought, huh. Remember when you were walking away from the car and you were all, “I don’t remember clicking the lock button, did I click the lock button as I walked away, I must have, I always do?” DID YOU EVEN HAVE YOUR KEYS?

So Act II was spent alternately enjoying the show and imagining the poor Taurus in a chop shop. Are those still things? Chop shops? Or just something I’m remembering from Adventures in Babysitting?

Come on, you remember the chop shop. And the Playboy? With the secrets all written inside that the kids stole because they were pervy?

So after the show and a sad goodbye with friend R., who is moving away soon and I will probably never see again, so that was our first and last adventure together (sorry I was all distractedy, friend R., I’m usually a better time, promise! Blame the lack of sleep, that’s what I’ve been doing all week!) I walked kind of all doom-and-gloomy back to the parking lot, thinking, “ok, so you call AAA if it’s not there and you say, ‘um…someone stole my car, I guess, HA HA, how did this HAPPEN?’ and then you totally have an extra house key stashed in your purse because you are a PLANNER, Amy.”

Car was still there. Sitting there, unlocked, with the keys swinging in the ignition. No one had even touched it.

Just like this, only I have a lot more crap on my keychain, which my brother CONSTANTLY yells at me about. “YOU WILL BREAK YOUR IGNITION!” he says. “Look at the pretty baubles, though!” I reply.

I have never done something that boneheaded in all my life. Well, no, that’s not even true. I’ve done a LOT of boneheaded things. But nothing that could cause me to be the victim of automobile theft. To be the WILLING VICTIM of automobile theft. Good grief.

(Also, I have probably used up my good karma for the year. And THANK YOU, thieves of Schenectady, for not being on the ball the other night. Much appreciated. I’m a delicate flower and not at all cut out for public transportation.)

Then I got home, and I wrote the review (it was good, of course it was, it was Wicked, I mean, unless no one could sing and they did some sort of weird creative casting or something, how could it not be good?) and then I tried to fall asleep but I was way too keyed up and I’m overtired so I’m having a lot of trouble sleeping and I have a lot of things in my head that are all “HA HA NO SLEEP FOR YOU” and it’s been a shitty week. Did I mention it’s been a shitty week? It totally has.

Oh, the show? The show was great. We had excellent seats – about, oh, I don’t know, say 14 rows back or something? Right on the aisle. I’ve only seen a couple of shows there with those kind of seats and I can assure you they weren’t BROADWAY shows, they were teeny-tiny things like the time a Shakespeare play came to town and no one wanted to see it so I got front-row seats. I got to see everything from the front for once, because usually I buy the cheap side seats so I don’t see what’s happening on half of the stage. I loved the show, I loved the performances, I was super-happy (although I cried a lot for someone super-happy; the songs in Wicked make me weepy, it’s a thing that happens, and then some songs that NORMALLY DON’T make me weepy were hitting me the wrong way that night so I was all a weepy mess, but I was quiet about it so hopefully I didn’t bother friend R. too much) and it was so nice to see it with friend R. because I will miss her so much when she’s gone.

Here is a HAPPIER song from Wicked, and it’s the one (strangely) I can’t get out of my head today – not even my favorite one, just the one I’ve been singing all day long:

The people in front of us stood up a lot and also arrived late from intermission so kept blocking our view. The person in back of us came back from intermission with what sounded like a jumbo bag of chips or something, and then proceeded to eat it with his or her face (perhaps a slight exaggeration, but that’s what it sounded like) like a wolverine until I turned around and gave the polite theater-person glare and they sighed and stopped. PEOPLE. This isn’t a picnic or a concert. IT’S LIVE THEATER. The seats we were in cost like $165, had we paid for them. SHUT UP and SIT DOWN and STOP EATING LIKE A HOG IN A TROUGH.

At intermission, someone walked by our row and said, “someone in this row has the BEST LAUGH” and apparently that was me. I don’t know if she was being sarcastic or not. I apologized for being loud but she said it was “great” so I guess she was genuinely being nice. Thanks, lady! It’s just my mouth, it does what it wants, much like a honey badger.

At one point, one of the actors played a goat and his horn fell off and flew across the stage all clattery and the first thing I thought was, whoa, THAT’S embarrassing, and the second thing I thought was, well, I’ll have to tell Ken, because as you know:

(Even goat-related musical theater news.)

I had a crush on Fiyero. As I do. I loved Elphaba. As I do. I actually really liked Glinda this time; I usually don’t. I still want to stab the wizard in the stupid face.

Also, as we were walking in, the OTHER local paper asked me and R. if they could take our photos, and they took a billion photos of us and got our names, so I think it’s ironic that we’re going to be in the “Were you SEEN at Wicked?” section in the competing paper when I was there as a paid guest of the OTHER local paper. Ha! (It’s not there yet. I’ll let you know when it is. Or, maybe I won’t. Maybe I look like a crazy, I don’t know.)

OK. This isn’t the SHORTEST or SADDEST blog post you’ve ever gotten. Maybe tomorrrow’s will be, who knows. I have to get to work, then run straight to the theater so I can watch The Shape of Things, then I have to go to bed for work and get up and work all day and then run home and try to write another one of these and then get up at 5:30am on Sunday to work for 7.5 hours and then I get like a little over a day off so that will be nice.

I had the best spam earlier but WordPress keeps eating my posts so now it’s missing and I’m total sadface. It was like, Greetings, men! You are luckiest if you like ladies. Italian ladies are best mates companions. Come and have some! And I giggled for like a month. It was funnier when THEY said it. FUCK YOU WORDPRESS STOP CRASHING MY BLOG. Also, there’s a store near work that says “Bears Weddings” in the window (they sell bears and cater weddings, I assume? I don’t know) and it made me think they have bear weddings in there and then I snort-laughed so hard I almost hit the guy in the lane next to me thinking of bear weddings.

Remind me to tell you about the cat who needed a sex change operation. And the cane-sword-guy. And the strip club. And The Shape of Things. Those are all important things.

Love your faces, yo. Send me sleepy vibes, I’m so effing tired.

About lucysfootball

I'm not the girl with the most cake. Someday. SOMEDAY. View all posts by lucysfootball

17 responses to “I was almost the star of my own version of Grand Theft Auto, only without the dead hookers.

  • Kelly Naylor

    I am SO happy that the thieves of Schenectady were taking the night off! Because even as a public transportation wizard, I can tell you that the #55 bus is NOT GOOD. Actually, if I hadn’t grown up in Chicago, I probably would not be as disappointed with CDTA as I am. But I grew up in Chicago and I am FULL of disappointment. ENGORGED, even, with disappointment!

    And Wicked! Oh, how I loved that show! The Spousal Unit and I drove all the way to Boston to see it, because it was still pretty new and we (meaning me, of course) dislike driving in NYC. Also, cheaper in Boston, so there’s that. But what a great show! Fiyero always seems to be crush-worthy, even in the book. Elphaba? Who can NOT like her? Not sure who played Glinda when we saw it (it was a long time ago… way more than a few months, YEARS in fact), but she managed to make Glinda seem ditzy and a little sweet, often totally clueless but trying so hard to be helpful. The sort of nice girl you just want to pat on the head and say, “Aw, sweetie… here’s a ticket for the clue bus. Go catch a ride.” Now I wish I could remember who the actress was. Hmmmm.

    I should mention we (meaning CPS) are singing what I think are many weepiness-inducing songs at our upcoming concerts. I guarantee I will be weeping while singing, something only *I* have permission to do. But other people don’t think they are weep-worthy, except for Lean On Me/We Shall Overcome, which everyone (except possibly the people with no hearts like the Tin Man) agrees is weep-worthy. But Olga says NO ONE GETS TO CRY except the audience. And Kelly. Ha! Booyah!

    Work has been trying to kill me (and writing has been taking up SOOOO much of my time) that I have not been very good about keeping up with anyone’s blogs. I am sad and ashamed. Work seems to be trying less hard to kill me, perhaps because it is resigned to the fact that I do not die from work, I only become cranky and bat poop crazy… or it is gathering strength for another attack. Regardless, I am making more of an effort to read at least your blog and Scalzi’s blog. I shall READ! And if I don’t comment, you’ll know I am battling the evil forces of Work with my vorpal sword and mad SQL coding skills.


    • lucysfootball

      It was fantastic. This is my second time seeing it, and I loved it even more this time. (Better seats make all the difference.)

      I am honored to be in such fancy company as Scalzi!


      • Kelly Naylor

        And Scalzi should be honored to be in such fancy company as you! I would tell him that, except I haven’t been commenting much on his blog either. Oh that evil, evil work!


  • 35JupiterDrive

    Okay, bear weddings would make me think of two big hirsute guys getting married.

    Annnnddd that’s where all my cultural references go.

    I am glad that your car wasn’t stolen. And I’m very glad Glinda was good in this one! Gads, I really want to see Wicked. By the time I see it, everyone in it will be in their 60s and sort of tired of each other and all the songs will be slowed way down so the singers can sing them.

    People eating in theaters and standing up make me nuts. My suggestion is to put on an extremely affronted English accent next time and tell them to sit down. “I say good man, your ass seems to be in my purview of the theatre and I daren’t say that it is informing me of anything other than you are in desperate need of a tailor. I have just the chap for you.” Or “Please excuse me but I daresay that crisps that are eaten in that tone of voice are best left in one’s carboot until the theatre has emptied. My dear wife Garol here is hard of hearing and cahn’t hear a bit. Good man. Jolly good fellow. So kind. Harrumph.”


    • lucysfootball

      Hee! I thought of two teddy bears getting married, kind of like at a teddy bear’s picnic.

      You WILL see Wicked! I bet it comes near you when you’re on the East Coast!

      My death glare tends to make people stop being jerky. Most of the time. I went to another show last night and my death glares had NO EFFECT AT ALL and it was disconcerting. It was like I was in an alternate Amy-universe.


  • sj

    I used to have so much crap on my keychain and my dad would YELL AT ME. I had this keychain my then best friend had made me with my ENTIRE NAME IN BEADS and a bunch of other crap that I can’t remember right now, but it was so heavy. And I liked it that way because I always knew if I had my keys with me. “Pocket way too heavy? No? Where the eff are my keys?”


    • lucysfootball

      Agreed. And all the things on my keychain have total meaning for me. There’s a gift from my friend Mer, and something I bought for myself in Rome, and something I bought for myself in NYC the first time I went back after I moved back to the area, and my lip gloss…and, well, keys. So, all very important things.

      Too bad, Amy’s brother. I need those things.


      • sj

        Yes, they were all THE MOST IMPORTANT, so I couldn’t leave them.

        Oh, except I just remembered the time I had to slam on my brakes on the freeway (in the CARPOOL LANE) to narrowly avoid death.

        And then I got to my friend’s house and went to shut off the car AND COULDN’T FIND THE KEYS because they had FALLEN OUT OF THE IGNITION.

        I’m pretending that had nothing to do with the fact that my keychain weighed a full pound.


        • lucysfootball

          The car was still driving even though the keys had fallen out of the ignition?

          MAGIC CAR!!!

          I will take a photo of my keychain for you someday with explanations of the importantnesses. FOR SCIENCE.


  • Andreas Heinakroon

    They sell crisps at the theatre? Really? Also, wouldn’t a hog eat from a trough, not in it? Correct me if I’m wrong; prepositions are not my strong suit.


    • lucysfootball

      I changed that “in” to a “from” (actually, an “at”, same enough) and WORDPRESS ATE MY CHANGES ON THIS POST. I’m so angry at it right now. It’s screwing up left and right.

      They sell all the food at that theater and people eat it all loud during the show and it’s infuriating. Candy, chips, wine, beer, etc. It’s like a buffet up in there.


  • Heather


    I love that one. Oh hell, I love them all. I especially like singing this one at the top of my lungs, though. Ha!

    I’m glad your car wasn’t stolen. That would have sucked.


  • becomingcliche

    I hope your week from hell is now over and you have a week of raindrops on roses. You need that.

    Glad Wicked was so good and that the thieves were not targeting Tauruses.


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